


A Beautiful May Morning

by lha



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Celebrities, Clothes, Fluff, M/M, Royal Wedding, Royalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-09 13:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14716839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lha/pseuds/lha
Summary: Basically, Mycroft & Greg at the Royal WeddingGregory Lestrade had experienced many things since he'd married his husband that would never have happened Before Mycroft (BM).





	1. Chapter 1

“What are you doing, Gregory?” Mycroft asked with an air of slight exasperation.

“Texting your brother,” Greg said not looking up or stopping his thumbs moving over the screen.

“Why would you be spoiling a lovely morning like this by contacting Sherlock?”

“Because John says he has his nose pressed to the screen and I want to make sure he doesn’t miss us,”

“One would assume if he's watching that closely then he won't miss us.”

“I may also be boasting.”

“What on earth about?”

“That we are at the biggest wedding of the decade and he’s sitting at home in his pajamas. And that you look particularly dashing today.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“And you love me.”

“Yes I do. What are you doing now?”

“I’m going to take selfie, and before you say anything, we’re not in public yet.”

“We are standing in the grounds of Windsor Castle,”

“Yes, but we’re in a holding area. There’s no press, this is as private as it’s going to get today and I want a picture with my gorgeous husband at Windsor Castle.”

“This is not the first time we’ve been here, and I’m usually much more ornately dressed.”

“I do love you in your Garter robes,” Greg said honestly, not least of which because Mycroft loved them and took great, if very quiet, pride in the honour that had been bestowed upon him and therefore glowed when he wore them.

“Very well,” Mycroft said with a long suffering, but mostly put on, sigh. Greg leant in and snapped a couple of shots and then dutifully turned his phone over to allow his husband to delete any particularly heinous pictures.

“This one. Will you send it to Anthea? She has been pestering me for some time.”

“Has she forgiven me yet?”

“I believe she is sitting in her office in a Philip Treacy hat.”

“Which you paid for?”

“I believe I may have purchased the entire outfit.”

“As long as she holds the fort today.”

“I have no doubt that she will.”

“Oh it’s time to go,” Greg said, as the group around them started to move. “Oh no, what, is that…?”

“Is that who?” Mycroft asked, shooting his cuffs and running a hand down the front of his waistcoat. He really did look very fine indeed in his morning suit.

“Is that Oprah?” 

“It might well be,” Mycroft said, his gaze now falling on Greg’s tie and reaching out to adjust the fuschia pink silk, chosen he had been told to work in contrast to Mycroft’s sapphire blue.

“You’re not even looking!”

“I may have had sight of the guest list.”

“Of course you have. Who else is going to be here.”

“I’m not answering that question. How do you even manage to do this?”

“I wish I didn’t have to wear this,” he said, fidgeting enough to have Mycroft scowl slightly.

“You look terribly dashing. Surely you wouldn’t have wanted to come in any old suit you’d wear to the office?” Mycroft asked lightly as thye began to join the gentle stream of people heading down the hill towards the chapel. 

“Well maybe not one that I’d wear to the Yard. But one of the nice ones you got me.”

“And look like a an uncouth American?” Mycroft whispered with faux horror.

“I hate to break it to you but I think that’s Idris Elba wearing a _i_lounge_i_ suit,” this was a term that he’d never have known BM (before Mycroft), “and he’s not American.”

“I shall bow to your superior knowledge on the topic,” Mycroft replied as they stepped out from under the stone arch and into the sunshine of a beautiful May morning.

Greg had quite a lot of experience with the general public. He had worked with the worst of humanity, seen people behave in remarkable and selfless ways. It had been a while but he remembered what crowd duty could be like. Today though, the atmosphere seemed very different. He took Mycroft’s hand, knowing that like so many other things that he would never have had an experience like this BM.

“You do realise that they have no idea who we are?” Mycroft said indulgently as Greg waved at the crowd.

“Speak for yourself,” he said with a grin, “I’m the policeman who works with Sherlock Holmes.”

“We are only here because they had to invite the Order members?”

“Are you sure?” Greg asked, stopping so that his hand pulled at Mycroft’s, encouraging him to pause and look back. 

“Quite.”

“How many members of the Order of the Garter, who aren’t also close family members, are on the guest list?”

“I forget,” Mycroft says quietly.

“You don’t forget anything,” Greg said, gently. “How many?”

“Two,”

“Let me guess,” Greg said stepping forward and starting their move down the curving hill again, “the other one’s John.”

“Perhaps,” he said he said quietly.

“Good! I want to pick Norma’s brain about why my pavlova wasn’t as good as hers always is. Are they here all day?”

“I don’t believe they’ve been invited to Frogmore Hall,” Mycroft said casually. And they had been. Point made. Not that Greg doubted it, given the odd situations he’d already been thrown into with this family already. 

They continued to walk slowly, casually, Greg occasionally pointing someone out and Mycroft occasionally correcting him. It was lovely though, Mycroft was glowing somehow, when he usually backed out from any sort of limelight. As they approached the entrance to the chapel, there were two men in uniform who checked their invitations (not for the first time today), and gestured that they take a spot to have their photograph taken. 

“Do you think we could get a copy of that?” Greg asked a they moved into the cool of the church building.

“I imagine it might be possible,” Mycroft said lightly.

“If you’ll follow me gentlemen,” an usher said, personally walking them along, past the organ screen and into the much quieter area of the quire. 

“Woah,” Greg breathed into Mycroft’s ear. “We’re not sitting with everyone else?”

“We have assigned seats if that's what you mean,” Mycroft said casually, thanking the usher who nodded deeply and then left them. 

There were still people milling around and, given there was twenty minutes before they were due to be seated, they joined the mingling crowd in the aisle. This was Mycroft in his element, he was on top form calmly talking to anyone and everyone. 

“A delight, Mrs Winfrey,” he said, the epitome of calm as he shook the hand of the American legend. “Might I introduce my husband?”

Greg, who had been walking on air since they’d woken up this morning, felt like he was somewhere around mile high by the time that this celeb laiden crowd began to file into their seats. As it became apparent who they were sitting next to, Gregory froze at the entrance to the choir stalls. He turned to Mycroft and hissed;

“That’s… I can’t sit next to… It’s George Clooney.”

“Yes, I believe you are right. You’d think that he would be able to afford a morning suit wouldn’t you? His wife is exquisitely turned out after all.”

“I can’t sit next to George Clooney!” He said intensely but as quietly as he could manage.

“Would you rather sit on the grooms side?” Mycroft asked lightly.

“Stop teasing!”

“Apologies, Gregory. Would you rather I sat next to him? I believe that Serena Williams is on our other side.”

“Ok. I’m mildly interested in tennis. We went to Wimbledon. You won’t hit on him?”

“I assure you there is only one silver fox I’m interested in. Besides this is Henry’s wedding.”

“Are you the only person in the world who calls him that?” Greg asked, stepping back and letting Mycroft proceed him into their seats.

“I believe there's at least one other.”

“So you and his Grandma?”

“Perhaps,” Mycroft said. “I have known him since he was a child and you of all people , Gregory, know how fond I am contractions and corruptions.”

“And you’re happy? With the match?”

“Both professionally and personally,” Mycroft said with a sincerity that was one of the many things Greg loved about him. “But more, I’m happy that we’re here, together, to see them start out on this most remarkable of journeys.”

“I love you too,” Greg said, squeezing his husband’s hand and acutely aware of the tears that were already gathering in his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

“Well, that was lovely,” Greg said once the procession had moved out of sight.

“Quite delightful,” Mycroft agreed in an equally hushed tone. 

“Are you crying?” 

“Allergies, I assure you.”

“While there are certainly a lot of flowers in here none of them are on your allergen listing. You’re just dewy eyed from love of it all.”

“Perhaps,”

“Nothing wrong with crying at weddings, love. Do you need a handkerchief?”

“I have one thank you.”

“Good, mine’s really quite damp already.”

“Shhh, I’m listening to the music,” Mycroft said, pressing his thigh a little closer to Greg’s. Greg reach over and laid a hand conspicuously on his partner’s knee, just in case any nearby A list celebrities were getting ideas. 

The music, all incredible, continued for some extended time after the happy couple had vanished from sight. Once the bride & groom had drawn away in their horse and carriage, the guests were very politely and efficiently encouraged to begin their departure back up to the castle. 

As the trays were offered, Greg reached for a glass of orange juice having handed a glass of champagne over to his husband. The other man gave him a pointed look, 

“What?”

“Much to your inexplicabile chagrin, you love champagne.”

“Yes, I don’t however want to make a fool of myself.”

“Of all the people here, I assure you, you are not at high risk and a glass of champagne is not going to change that.” Deftly, Mycroft acquired another glass, and handed it over.

“Still though,” Greg said, glancing around the room where the great and the good were now mingling.

“You seem to forget you’re one of few people in this room that has had any extended contact with the groom’s family.”

“You know them well, I had lunch at Clarence House once,” Greg said. 

“We shared an intimate repast that lasted several hours longer than it might have,” Mycroft said.

“It was nice,” he said, remembering how quickly it had become apparent that this was very much a social rather than a formal event. The food had been good but unpretentious and the conversation remarkably more interesting than he’d anticipated. It had only when their host’s sons had arrived that the afternoon had drawn to a close.

“It was a very enjoyable occasion, and you hardly acquitted yourself poorly.”

“No, I suppose, but that was all very low key.” 

“Did you see the card I put on the mantle?” Mycroft said, clearly changing the subject at least a little.

“From the Palace? Yeah, glad he like the books.” Mycroft had picked out a military biography for the recovering nonagenarian but it had been Greg who’d suggested Paper Planes to Fold and Fly.

“I assure you that not many people get a handwritten note from Her Majesty, to say thank you for a gift sent to her husband.”

“Yeah well...” Greg considered pointing out that very few gifts probably handed over directly from her personal equarry and that was all on Mycroft.

“Really,” Mycroft said, with a fond frown. “Now what can I do to distract you?”

“I don’t need distracting!” Greg hissed as his husband’s hand drifted beneath the tails of his coat.

“So you don’t wish to score our fellow guests’ attire?” Mycroft asked innocently.

“You are incorrigible.”

The sound of dogs barking from the far side of the room heralded the entrance of the bridal party. As the crowd turned towards the door a number of corgis and a beagle trotted purposefully between their legs. There was a degree of snuffling back and forth but they clearly had a destination in mind. The corgis were the ones leading the way and the came to stand just in front of Mycroft.

“Sit,” Mycroft said quietly and the rumps of the three of the dogs instantly hit the ground. The beagle who was looking on excitedly seemed to get the idea quite quickly thereafter and a followed suit. “Well done.” And with that, from somewhere even Greg wasn’t sure he could identify, Mycroft tossed them each a small biscuit. 

“Thank you, Sir,” a Steward said, appearing from nowhere and calmly shepherding the dogs away.

“They were never terribly fond of me,” John said coming up beside them.

“Clear boundaries, I’ve found, help in many circumstances. I will not have my trousers molested by anyone’s pets.”

“Animals do seem to like you,” Greg said, standing back and using an arm to welcome Norma into their group.

“Wasn’t it a lovely service,” she said, “It felt so personal, despite the circus.”

“It was!” Greg enthused. “And that preacher!”

“He was so animated and enthusiastic,” she agreed.

“Indeed,” Mycroft said. “Not since Billy Graham, have the walls of that hallowed chamber rung with such an evangelical voice. I rather enjoyed it.”

“There were certainly some shocked faces,” John said, “but I think it was a very good point, very well made.”

“And it is terribly good for the establishment to be rocked every once in a while.” This ability and willingness to see the institutions he loved and served, change and evolve was such a joy.

Greg loved this couple and while he hadn’t, and probably never would, vote for the party John was associated with, he and his wife were so delightfully sensible that it was easy enough to forget that he had been Prime Minister at all. Mycroft assured him that there was at least one other former PM whose company he would enjoy. He hadn’t been inclined to specifics but he had acknowledged that time and distance were an important part of the transition.

The afternoon progressed, and with food, music, and possibly partly due to a couple of glasses of very good wine, Greg relaxed into proceedings. This was probably the reason why he managed to hang on to most of his composure when he realised that the Best Man was approaching and that Mycroft had drifted off to a different group.

“I believe it’s you I have to thank for the fact that every time my eldest son and daughter come back from Sandringham they’ve been throwing airplanes from every balcony they can find.”

“Possibly,” Greg admitted with a smile. “Glad it’s gone down well though.”

“There was a campaign that the rings should arrive from the organ loft on a paper spitfire. I’m only half convinced it wasn’t Grampa behind that one.”

“Congratulations, by the way,” Greg said belatedly, “You’re all well?”

“Marvelous,” he said, the smile of a new parent shining from his face. “I had better go and hunt down Model One and Model Two but you’ll both be there this evening?”

“We’ll be there,” he said with a smile.

“Good, I want to introduce Mycroft to someone, I think that he’ll enjoy having a robust conversation with.”

“I’m sure he’ll look forward to that,” Greg said with an understanding chuckle.


	3. Chapter 3

“Do I pass?”

“Always, Gregory,” Mycroft said, not looking away from his own reflection in the mirror.

“Let me rephrase that,” Greg said, “would you tie my tie?” He sidled up behind his husband, sliding his arms around his waist and humming ‘Tiny Dancer’.

“I’ve already had to suffer through that once today,” Mycroft said with a grimace, turning within Greg’s arms to face him. “But yes, always.” He loosened his grip, allowing Mycroft to stand back enough to reach up between them and fasten the tie. It was an intimate action that Greg enjoyed, and just one of the many ways that Mycroft looked after him.

“You do know,” Mycroft said after a minute, as Greg continued to hum. “That I know, that you are perfectly capable of doing this yourself?”

“Yes, but it’s so much nicer when you do it for me.” He leaned in and kissed the edge of Mycroft’s mouth. “Much like I know that you’re perfectly capable of changing your own oil.”

“Touché,” Mycroft said, allowing Greg to sweep him in to a sway.

_“Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band  
Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man,” ___

__“You are many things Gregory, but you would be hard pressed to call either of us music men,” Mycroft protested as greg turned them in a circle. “And,” he continued before Greg could cut in, “if you say anything about your ‘making me sing’, I will refuse to tell you where you’ve left your cufflinks.”_ _

__“In that case, I shall simply point out that you may not have the virtuoso tendencies of Sherlock but, you are a beautiful singer and a talented pianist.”_ _

__“The result of a British Public School education, you have a far greater skill that was simply not nourished,” Mycroft dismissed. “I shall however, grant you a temporary reprieve.”_ _

__“That’s really very gracious of you,” Greg said, leaning in and gently kissing him._ _

__“I agree. Your cufflinks are on the vanity in the bathroom by the way.”_ _

__“Thank you!” Greg called as he danced his way back into the ensuite._ _

__The host of the evening reception greeted them warmly, and they were once again plied with drinks before being shown through to the hall set for dinner. Strangely, given that the dress code for the evening was more formal in some respects than the rest of the day had been, the atmosphere was more laid back. As they made their way to the their seats Greg was shocked to find himself seated next to the closest the Americans came to royalty of their own._ _

__“I might have swapped place cards,” she said surreptitiously, “I am fascinated to talk to you.” And, it appeared she was. Not just about Sherlock, though he was naturally mentioned, but about policing in the UK, his experience of the societal challenges and racial tensions. Greg was thoroughly enjoying himself and when he glanced up across the table to catch Mycroft’s eyes, the look of enjoyment and pride on his face only enhanced it. They’d handed their phones in before they’d entered, but Greg knew he wouldn’t need a picture to remember that smile._ _

__As the evening progressed, Mycroft and he drifted in and out of each other’s company far more than Greg might have expected, but it was only because they were both comfortable. When they found themselves coming together it was always with a smile and an introduction or a squeeze of the hand. They danced to music that under normal circumstances would make Mycroft tutt, and with enough formality that they got a round of applause from those nearby. The gardens outside had been transformed into an atmospherically lit fair and the next time Greg came across his husband he dragged him towards a coconut shy._ _

__“Come on!” Greg said, with his best convincing face. “Win me a prize!” Mycroft missed his first few attempts, until the father of the groom appeared at his shoulder and coughed lightly. The third ball hit bang on target._ _

__They were standing next to the dance floor when the bride and groom tumbled in their direction all smiles and laughs._ _

__“Mycroft,” he declared, “my brother tells me that you’ve managed to get Paul to stop talking for more than thirty seconds.”_ _

__“I merely refused to be browbeaten by his nonsense. A pleasure to meet you my dear, may you both have many blessed years ahead.”_ _

__“Yes, all the best!” Greg said raising his glass in salute._ _

__“Well if we’re half as happy as the pair of you seem,” the bride said with a gracious smile._ _

__“I often consider myself the luckiest man in the world,” Mycroft replied, with rarely public fondness. “But I’m willing to share the accolade.”_ _

__“That’s my husband, gracious to the last,” Greg said with a smile, reaching up to kiss his cheek._ _

__“If there’s ever anything I can do,” Mycroft said reaching into his pocket and producing a card. She took it and her husband lent in to take closer look._ _

__“That one has a name and a number on it, those are rare as hens teeth,” he teased. With a pointed look, she tucked it into the neck of the dress._ _

__“Very mysterious Mr Holmes! Now,“ she said, stepping closer and threading her arm through the crook of his elbow. “I’ve also been told that I shouldn’t miss an opportunity to dance with you.”_ _

__“Well…” Mycroft blushed, looking down, his ears colouring beautifully making Greg smile._ _

__“Unless Greg objects?” she asked with a twinkle._ _

__“Absolutely not! I certainly don’t do him justice,” he said jabbing him gently in the ribs. He watched as they took to the floor, entirely unsurprised that the music seamlessly morphed into something fit to waltz to._ _

__“You’ve really made all the difference to him,” the other man said as Mycroft effortly guided his wife around the floor. “No,” he protested, when Greg went to protest. He glanced to the side but the younger man’s eyes didn’t stray from the pair now cutting a swath through the other. “I’ve known Mycroft a long time. He’s been there through a lot of things and always seen us right. The difference in him though, well, it’s like it was with Dad.” Greg opened his mouth to try and say something but found that there were no words and that his eyes were inexplicably moist._ _

__The music drew to a close and Mycroft steered his partner expertly to a halt back where they started. As soon as she had stepped away, Greg stepped in and pulled Mycroft in for an extreme and entirely un-approved public display of affection._ _

__“You all look like you could do with one of these,” their host said, carrying a bottle of very nice whisky, his eldest son following him with a tray of glasses. Greg stepped back but stayed close to Mycroft’s side who left his arm draped along his shoulders._ _

__“Thanks Dad,” the groom said, an arm sliding around his partner’s waist._ _

__“And then it’s time for some of us to retire and let you young ones do whatever it is you choose to do when we’ve gone to bed.”_ _

__“To do whatever it is that you choose to do when us youngsters are out of earshot?”_ _

__“If it wasn’t your wedding day,” his elder brother chided, humour maring his protest._ _

__“To love then,” Mycroft said, raising his glass._ _

__“And early nights,” Greg added._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please do let me know here, or on twttter @LHA_again
> 
> Thanks for reading,
> 
> Lx


End file.
